


Dean's Debut

by Athr3na



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bi Dean, Domestic destiel, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Destiel, Friendship, M/M, No Angst (maybe a little), but i went in and made some much-needed changeups, happy ending because hey thats my otp, hope yall enjoy, plot-centred, sam and mary shipping it, there is no sexual content whatsoever :), this goes out to my ace community, this is written like an episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athr3na/pseuds/Athr3na
Summary: Castiel joined the Winchesters at the bunker table.“You lost the wig.” he deadpanned, glancing from Sam to Dean.Dean rubbed his neck, “I was really, really drunk, maybe it fell off in the parking lot?” He asked hopefully, raising his hands in confusion.Sam shook his head, the gears in his head spinning, “We would have noticed. And since it’s not in the Impala…” he trailed off, nervously tapping the table.“Absolutely fantastic,” Dean huffed, “We now have a lost cursed wig that probably wants to gank me.”
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Mary Winchester, Eileen Leahy & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester & Sam Winchester, Rowena McLeod & Mary Winchester, Rowena McLeod - Relationship, Sam & Dean Winchester
Comments: 30
Kudos: 34





	1. A Strange Case

**Author's Note:**

> This fic goes out to all of the sex-repulsed aro/aces, kids and people who are annoyed with the lack of plot-centered fluff. I hope yall like it (:

Dean and Sam Winchester lounged at the Bunker table, Dean with his feet kicked up, sipping a coffee. Sam leaned over a computer, scrolling through hundreds of news websites. 

After half an hour and another cup of coffee, Sam glanced up, “Hey,” He called, turning his laptop towards Dean, “I think I found us a case.” 

Dean pulled his feet off the table, taking the computer in his lap. 

“Drag queens?” he asked, glancing up. 

Sam nodded, pointing to the article, “Yep. Three people were killed, no doors unlocked, there were reports of flickering lights, cold spots- 

“So a ghost?” Dean asked, skimming through the article again. 

“Sounds like.” Sam agreed, “And it’s only a few hours outside of Lebanon. Interesting thing is-” he pulled the computer back to himself, “There have been four other reports in towns along the road.” 

“So...what? A banshee?” Dean asked, his brows knit.

“No,” Sam replied, shrugging, “Banshees only go after the weak and these guys were perfectly healthy.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, kicking his feet back up on the table, “Sounds promising. Give me a second and I’ll be ready to go.” 

~~~

Dean pulled the Impala into Wayveiw's Superstore parking lot, just behind a black police suburban. 

Hopping out, he swung the Impala’s keys on his finger, pulling at the uncomfortably tight blue tie, “You ‘Q the local fuzz, I’ll talk to the witnesses, see if they have anything helpful.”

Sam nodded, a woman in a tan sheriff’s uniform approaching him. He pulled out his badge, flipping it to the woman, “Officer Padalecki.” he muttered. 

She nodded, “Marley.” She introduced, “Bureau must've screwed up, fellers just missed your partner." she muttered, Sam not quite catching it. 

"You boys ever seen a case like this?” Marley asked, crossing her arms and watching as Dean approached a mother and her teenage daughter, the discoverer's of Damian Mackedy's corpse. 

Sam shook his head, knitting his brows, “What makes this case so special?” he asked, glancing around the crime scene. 

Sheriff Marley led him over to a taped off parking space, which held an older-model blue sedan. The door stood ajar, blood soaking the seat. Frost crept up the vehicles window, a remnant of the late-night murder. 

“This is where the body was found. The door was closed, and the body had definitely been dragged from here-” She pointed to the back tire, where dried blood pooled, "Into this seat, where the corpse was mutilated."

"Mutilated how?" Sam asked, wondering if instead of a ghost they had stumbled onto another hunters’ work. 

“His throat had fourth-degree burns, like someone had wrapped a flaming rope around his neck." Marley shrugged helplessly, "Would’ve thought that was what killed him, but turns out blunt force trauma to multiple major organ got him first, which-”

“Means the killer stuck around for a bit.” Sam finished, all doubt draining out of him. 

Marley nodded, swallowing hard, "We don't usually get many murders around here, especially not hate crimes." she glanced to the pooled blood, worried, "I'd like to keep my citizens safe, 'specially the minorities."

Sam nodded, then cocked his head, glancing at the sheriff, "Hate Crimes?" He asked, following Marley, who already made her way around the back of the sedan. She gestured to the doors, where the word "Queer" had been scrawled across it in black goo. 

"We've labelled this as an attack on the LGBTQ+ community, something my son is actually a part of. I don;t want to seem him get hurt." She pursed her lips, scared she had maybe said too much. 

Sam nodded, "It's okay, we'll find whoever did this." Sam said, attempting to reassure the sheriff. 

Dean jogged up behind them, breaking the uncomfortable silence. His face fell when he saw the Ectoplasm-painted slur. 

"Dammit." He muttered, "Agent Padalecki, could I have a word?" Dean asked, puling Sam away from Sheriff Marley, who gave him a quick wave. He nodded in return, jogging to catch up with Dean, who made a beeline for the Impala. 

"So it's definitely a ghost." Sam sighed, pulling open the sleek car's passenger door, "Thing is, how is he moving around." 

Dean shook his head, already inside and starting up the '67 Chevy's motor, "Not sure, But I got a witness who saw the whole thing. Maybe he can tell us." With a smile, he rolled out of the parking lot, passing a tan '78 Continental on the way out.


	2. Two and a Half (not really) Humans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tried to keep it short because it's mostly investigating right now. 
> 
> Next chapter will be lights, Camera, ACTION!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I speedwrote this bitch so there's probably so many typos but I wanted to get the chapter done. enjoy <3

Dean glanced at the back mirror, catching a glimpse of a familiar tan car. He raised his eyebrows, "Check it out." He chuckled, gesturing behind them to Castiel's tan '78 Continental.

Sam grinned, glancing up from the computer in his lap, "Looks like Cas is okay then." He turned back to the computer in his lap, where the other four police reports sat, important information highlighted on them. John Winchester's journal also sat open, although the boy paid much lees attention to it, now that they had encountered everything it detailed and more. 

"So," He started with a sigh, "We know this is a ghost, so obviously it has to be tied to something, and because ghosts don't exactly go on excursions this far from their graves-" 

"It's haunting an object." Dean finished, nodding along. 

"Yep." Confirmed Sam, shifting through the papers, "The problem is, none of these people have anything in common. One was a girl from Airbee, town a few hours outside of Lebanon. She got killed while on a date, went outside for some air, never came back. The police kept it quiet, so quiet I can't figure out why. The other two had one thing in common; They were both drag queens." Dean raised his eyebrows, the gears in his head spinning. 

"Check if the girl went to any youth groups." Dean suggested. Sam cocked his head, bewildered.

"If the ghost is going after gay people, then she was probably caught mid-date with her lovely girlfriend, which would piss any idiot homophobe off." Dean explained, pulling into a driveway. 

Sam nodded, "I'll try to find any record of youth groups," He flicked his pen, writing down a password on his hand, "You and Cas go see if this guy has anything to offer." 

Dean nodded, grinning as Cas's pimp car pulled onto the road beside the Impala. He hopped out, passing the keys to Sam. 

"Hey, Cas." Dean called as the angel locked his car. He jogged across the road, narrowly avoiding a cyclist, "What are you doing here?" Dean asked jokingly. 

"Hello Dean." Cas grinned, jogging across the road to the front door, "I'm investigating a case." He announced proudly, ringing the doorbell. 

Dean opened his mouth to question, but the door opened slightly too early for him to catch a word in. 

In the doorway stood a blond man in his thirties, wearing fuzzy pajamas despite the time being long past noon, "Can I help you?" He asked, eyeing both Dean and Cas in their crisp suits. 

Dean was first to pull out his badge, Cas soon following, "I'm Special Agent Ackles, this is my partner-" 

"Special Agent Collins." Cas finished, attempting a professional-like stance while still flipping an upside-down badge. 

"We're here about the murder you may have witnessed?" Dean asked politely, in his best 'this is not a question' voice. 

The man glanced back into his house, opening the door just a little more. The faint scent of cinnamon wafted out, "I-it wasn't me who saw it,"He said, almost uncertainly, "It was my boyfriend, he was refilling his T supplements, 'cause Superstore is cheapest, and..." the man trailed off, glancing back into the house. 

Deans eyes softened, his shoulders slacking, "He won't talk about it?" He asked, putting his hands up in an 'it's okay' gesture. 

The man sighed, worry seeping into his features, "Yes," He sighed, "I don't think he's ready to talk about it yet, can you come back?" He asked hopefully, a bunt scent now starting to waft outside, "In a week maybe?" A distressed beeping began emitting from inside the house, "Excuse me!" He squealed, quickly pulled the door shut. 

"Well that was a bust." Castiel huffed, his deep voice a nice change, and stark contrast to the earlier man's high pitch. 

"Yeah," Dean half-scoffed, "What our next lead?" He asked, leaning over the Impala's hood.

"Head back to the crime scene?" Cas asked halfheartedly, "I think that's the last lead we have right now." 

"Nope-" Sam interjected, stepping out of the Impala, "All of the Vic's were involved somehow with a 'Kingdom's Bar' about two towns over." 

Dean pulled up a map on his phone, centering in on Kingdoms Bar, Kansas. Without reading the full name, Dean grinned, starting up his beloved Baby, "Well let's pay them a visit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not fully sure when this takes place, but thats okay because we don't value accuracy unless it directly concerns my work, which this doesn't at the moment. also i'm pretty sick of the lack of lgbtq+ in stuff so every couple in here is mlm, wlw, intersex, or non-binary. cause we love and respect representation :)


	3. Kingdoms Bar, Drag Capitol of Kansas

Finding a parking spot at Kingdoms Bar, Kansas proved to be much more difficult than any of them intended. The parking lot was packed, and people lounged outside on picnic tables, women and men in every outfit in every colour of the pride flag. 

Dean pulled the Impala onto the roads shoulder, Castiel's pimp car following suit. Despite the crowds, the bar was not located near any towns, let alone in one. It stood relatively close to the bunker, actually, maybe only four or five miles away. 

Dean hopped out, eyeing the building. It was a wooden cabin, standing two stories tall, with a peaked roof, and a giant rainbow banner hanging down between the eaves troughs. The windows flashed with neon lights, music and laughter heard from even the road. 

Dean grinned, heading over to the front door. It was decorated with fluffy pink feathers, and lined with silver tinsel. A neon sign flashed over the doorway, advertising; "Drag Capitol of Kansas!" 

Dean pointed to it, smirking, "Always wanted to do that again." he muttered, a fond smile crossing his face. 

Sam glanced at his brother in bewilderment, "When did you dress in drag?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. Dean didn't answer, instead pretending to have not heard the question. He ushered them inside, a bartender in a tweed vest glanced up, giving the older Winchester a seductive wink as he entered. 

The bar flashed with purple, blue, and pink neon lights, lighting up a Queen dressed in a frilly pink dress, soulfully singing a Lady Gaga song. Sam glanced up at the woman, then to Dean an Cas, the latter looking utterly bewildered at the entire fiasco. 

Sam held out his hand slowly, holding his fist over his palm. Dean followed suit, gesturing for Cas to do the same. 

"Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot-" 

Sam threw rock, Dean throwing scissors, as per usual. They glanced to Cas, the tiebreaker. 

He held the symbol for paper above his palm.

"Dibs out." Sam commented, Cas following with his own, "Dibs," too quickly for Dean to even respond. He grunted, heading over to the bar first. 

"I'll take the strongest thing you have." He asked, the bashful bartender from earlier handing him a small glass filled with blue liquid. He pulled a lighter out from under the table, setting it on fire. 

"On the house mate." He smirked in a heavy Australian accent. Dean smiled, downing the shot. 

He followed the arrows backstage, giving Sam a thumbs up before disappearing behind a sparkly curtain.

"This is a terrible idea." Castiel announced, sighing. 

"Yep," Sam agreed, flipping his badge to a bartender, "Agent Padalecki," He explained, "We'd like to ask you some questions about your Drag Queen that were murdered?" 

~~~

A man took Deans hand, leading him away from the sparkly curtains and people, to a room far backstage. He seated him in a hair-dressers chair, pumping Dean up to his height. 

The man glanced at a sheet filled with makeup templates, "I think cat-eye is a good look for you." He said enthusiastically, pointing to the eyeliner.

Dean nodded, "Sure. Can I wear a wig? I've never worn a wig before." 

The man gave him a smile, "Of course. Have you ever done this before?" He added turning to pull out an eye shadow colour plate. 

"Once, when I was seventeen," He admitted, choosing a light cyan, "My dad was pissed." The memory of a furious John Winchester resurfaced momentarily, Dean pushing it back into his mind. 

The dark skinned man smiled sympathetically, "Same." After a moment of thought he added, "I'm Johnathan, by the way."

He tipped Dean chair back, applying the eye shadow. He turned, pulling two dresses off of a rack, presenting them to Dean. One was a tight, sequinned turquoise dress, another a frilled green one. Dean pointed to the turquoise one, grinning. 

He realized there was work to be done, and tried to find a way to gather information, "So," he started awkwardly, "I heard the dead Queens worked here?" 

Dean cringed, realizing he may have over stepped. 

Johnathan paused, "Y-yeah," He said, sadness brewing on his features, "Cynthia and Aleana. They were good people." He seemed lost in a fond memory for just a moment, before briskly turning to Dean, fighting to keep tears out of his eyes, "I did their make-up for years." He announced proudly. 

Dean's eyes softened, "I'm sorry." he apologized, glancing down. 

Johnathan waved it off, wiping his eyes, "It's okay." He thought for a moment, "Always wanted to honor their memory somehow, though." He turned, grabbing a curly blond wig, "They always wore this wig, shared it between the two of them. Came from some crusty-ass homophobe's house, out of spite really." 

Dean grinned, "Alright them." He clapped, standing to slip into the tight cyan dress.

~~~

Sam sipped his beer, thinking about what little information the bartender had given up. Cas sat next to him, sipping his own ginger ale. 

Cas sighed, glancing at the stage occasionally, "Hopefully Dean has better luck." He huffed. 

Sam smirked, "Yeah." He agreed, downing the rest of his beer. 

The Queen onstage ended her song, prompting an eruption of applause from the audience. Sam glanced at the stage absently, calling the bartender over for another beer. 

As a new song began, Cas's eyes grew wide. He urgently tapped Sams's shoulder, disbelief growing on his face, "Sam..." He trailed off, pointing at the Queen onstage. 

At first Sam didn't recognize his brother, in his tight, sequinned cyan dress, blond wig, and make-up, but his jaw nearly hit the floor when he did. Immediately patting his pants, searching for his phone. A smile grew on his features, spreading ear to ear. 

He held up the Camera, trying to keep a laugh down.

~~~

As Dean hopped off the stage, Sam cracked up, waving his brother over to their table. 

Cas stared at him, eyes wider than dinner plates. Dean winked at the Angel, waving a drunk Johnathan over. He waved back, oblivious to the gesture. Dean huffed a laugh, turning back to his brother and Angel. 

"Dean..." Cas sighed, unsure of even how to convey his confusion. 

"Cas..." Dean imitated, a grin spreading ear to ear, "How'ya doing sugar?" He asked in a high pitch, trying to force back a giggle. 

"Let's get you home." Sam chuckled, glancing to Cas, whose eyes remained wide, "I'll take him, you head into town, grab some more coffee creme, we're gonna need it." Sam commanded, taking Dean's arm as he stumbled. 

Cas nodded, heading out to his Continental, watching as Sam lugged a drunken Dean Winchester into the passenger seat of his own beloved Baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it, more will be posted soon & it was written at the ungodly hour of 2am and remains unedited, cheers!


	4. Mister Asshat

Dean shook his head, groaning. His entire body itched in the tight satin dress, his head pounded, whether from the alcohol or the music, he couldn’t recall. His memory of last night was patchy at best, complete hours forgotten. Despite the tequila-induced amnesia, he still had a general idea of what happened at Kingdoms Bar. 

Briefly remembering his performance, he groaned, falling back onto the couch. 

Sam cracked up behind him at the bunker table, “Good morning.” He announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It's really not.” Dean grumbled, wiping his hand over his face in a gesture of both embarrassment and exhaustion. 

Sam chuckled, offering Dean a cup of coffee over his shoulder, “I think that goes into the top three drunk moments of yours. Maybe even the top.” Sam laughed, pulling out his phone. 

He passed the device to Dean, who gawked at his drunken self with mild horror and -perhaps- pride. 

“Delete that or I will, kill you.” He threatened, sipping his coffee, a terrible attempt to hide the smile on his face. 

Sam grinned, keeping the video.

After a brief sip of coffee, Dean attempted to stand, failing spectacularly. He collapsed back into the couch, both tripping over the tight dress, and falling from the fantastical hangover, ‘The worst one I’ve ever had.’ he thought. 

Attempting to stand again, this time more wary and prepared, he rubbed his forehead, noticing the absence of his angel. 

“Where’s Cas?” He asked, sounding slightly more disappointed than he should’ve.

“Still working the case.” Sam replied, grabbing Dean's arm as he stumbled. His brother may have been a hard partier in his twenties, but times had definitely changed. 

“Well you can call him off,” Dean said, shooing away Sam, “I did do some work while I was at the bar. The wig I was wearing,” he said, pulling at the boa, which wrapped under his arms and around his neck, “It was the cursed object. It was from the other four bars and it came from some really old homophobe's garage sale.” He stumbled to the map table, minding his sloshing coffee. 

“How’d you figure that out?” Sam asked, cocking his head, his brows knit. 

“When they were dressing me up one of the Queens told me. He also said they got their beer from Canada, so we’ll have to head up there because that stuff-” He gave a chief's kiss, “-was excellent.”

Sam laughed as Dean hobbled to his room, the pink boa dragging off his arm behind him. Sam glanced at the couch where his brother had bunked, checking around it. The wig was nowhere to be seen, most likely hiding under the couch. Most likely. 

~~~

Castiel joined the Winchesters at the bunker table sometime later, eyeballing a weary Dean, who now kicked his feet up on the table in fuzzy beer-pong pajamas. 

“You lost the wig.” he deadpanned, glancing from Dean to Sam. 

Dean rubbed his neck, “I was really, really drunk, maybe it fell off in the parking lot?” He asked hopefully, raising his hands in confusion.

Sam shook his head, the gears in his head spinning, “We would have noticed. And since it’s not in the Impala…” he trailed off, nervously tapping the table.

“Absolutely fantastic,” Dean huffed, “We now have a lost cursed wig that probably wants to gank me.” He sipped his coffee, shaking his head.

“We checked everywhere it could be.” Sam said to no one in particular, flicking his pen, “We could call Rowena?” he asked, shrugging. 

"Or Crowley,” Dean scoffed, “Neither of them can help us with a ghost.” 

“Are you sure it’s even in the bunker?” asked Cas, sighing at the Winchesters, “Like Dean said- It could’ve fallen off in the parking lot.” 

As if on cue, Dean’s breath began to steam in front of him. Frost crept up the legs and tabletop, centering around the oldest Winchester. 

“You had to ask?” Dean sighed, reaching for the 38. Revolver that idly sat in its leather holster under the table. 

Cas shrugged helplessly, biting back a remark. His Angel blade fell from his sleeve, him hefting it defiantly. Sam reached for the fireplace poker. The motley crew hefted their weapons, awaiting the ghost in awkward silence. 

The air seemed to freeze as a single word was uttered in the deadly silence; “Queeeer” it hissed, the frost creeping further along the table and forming on the bunker’s walls and ceiling, all of the cold centering exclusively around Dean. 

After what felt like years, then lights flickered, revealing a white man in his early sixties. He sat comfortably in Dean’s chair, sipping a ghostly brandy and sporting a bloodstained pinstriped suit. 

Sam gasped, taking a swing at the ghost with his poker. Narrowly missing when he disappeared, Sam turned, horror filling his features.

“Behind you!” He yelled as the man appeared behind Cas, his fingers attempting to wrap around the angels neck. 

Castiel whirled, but the man’s iron grip took hold of Cas a moment too soon. The ghosts fingers seemed to catch fire, a horrible smile of pure enjoyment pulled across his face. Cas struggled against his grip, his face turning a light purple. 

The ghost gave a laugh, clearly enjoying Cas’s pain, “You disgust m-” The man was cut off from a shot from the revolver, the ghosts form disappearing from the rock-salt loaded shell. 

“Same.” Dean sneered, turning to Cas, “You okay?” he asked, checking over the angel. Other than the burnt ligatures, he seemed to be alright. 

“Do those hurt?” Dean asked, tenderly inspecting his wounds. The burns appeared to be of the third degree, the skin around them a slimy red. He carefully avoided the worst of them, running his fingers around the nape of Cas’s neck and pulling his chin up to see them better. 

Cas nodded, his cheeks becoming a vibrant pink, “Dean,” He sighed, trying to keep the adornment out of his words, “You forget that I’m not human.” 

Dean blushed, pulling his fingers off his neck as Cas healed the burned skin himself, his ocean blue eyes briefly glowing with angelic grace. 

“Oh, yeah.” Dean awkwardly chuckled, heat rising in his face, “Yeah.” he repeated, holding Cas’s gaze just a moment too long, before sheepishly dropping it. A fond smile spread across Cas’s features. 

“I’m guessing this won’t be very useful against a ghost.” He chuckled, hefting his angel blade uselessly. 

“Um, yeah. Here.” Dean grabbed a candlestick from the center of the frozen table handing it to Castiel in place of the Angel blade, “This’ll probably work.” 

Cas raised his eyebrows, but took the make-shift weapon, his blade disappearing into his sleeve again.

Sam sighed, “Since we can’t find this wig-” he turned, heading towards the kitchen, “We need to keep you wo from getting killed.”

Dean and Cas shared a bewildered glance, following Sam down the bunker’s halls. 

“What’s the plan then?” asked Dean, spreading his arms in a gesture of sarcasm. His right hand still hefted the revolver, the other on his hip. 

“We’ll put you in a salt circle,” Sam called, pulling open the pantry doors, “Hopefully that’ll keep it away.” He began pouring a salt line around the table, pantry, stove and mini-fridge. 

“Why would the ghost come after us? He only saw me in drag.” Dean asked, cocking his head and setting the revolver on the table. 

Sam raised his eyebrows, scoffing, “You’re about as straight as a slinky and let’s face it, you two act like a married couple.”

“No we don't.”   
“No we don’t.”

Sam gave them a dry smile, finishing up the salt circle, “Stay here.” he ordered mockingly, tossing Cas the poker in place of his maybe-iron candlestick, “I’m gonna call somebody, get some help with this. You two-” he glared pointedly at Dean, “-Stay in the circle.” 

Dean rolled his eyes, but stayed put, taking a seat at the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter I had pre-written, so it feels slightly off but I'm not changing it lol. Also your updates will be quicker for about a week! thanks for the kudos and enjoy


	5. Mother Makes and Appearance

“So they’re in the kitchen? In a salt circle?” asked Mary, hefting her bag of shotguns and salt rounds onto the map table, “And you’re sure this ghost is going after specifically them?” 

Sam nodded, glancing down with a grin, “In case you haven’t noticed-”

“They’re like a married couple?” Mary finished, grinning now too, “Yeah, noticed that a while ago.” 

Sam chuckled, loading his gun and shoving a small salt shaker in his pocket.

“Okay,” Mary said, hefting her shotgun with a smile, ”Let's get us a ghost.” 

The two decided to split up, Sam taking the Bunker’s winding labyrinth of bedrooms, Mary searching the electrical rooms, Boiler room, Library, and Dungeons. Sam and Mary crept down the Halls, keeping their footsteps light. Frost crept along the walls beside Mary, Sam's breath steaming in front of him. The lights flickered occasionally, sending the halls into complete darkness for seconds, even minutes. 

Sam motioned for her to move off to the left, where the storage room lay. She nodded, continuing down the hall with her shotgun hefted. 

Slowly, she nudged the open storage room door, aiming her salt-loaded shotgun inside. When nothing jumped out of the dark doorway, she burst inside, swinging the gun every which way. She sighed, flicking on the light and dropping her shoulders, knitting her eyebrows. 

Her breath no longer steamed in front of her, and the lights above her no longer flickered. 

“Where are you…” she murmured, her voice echoing back in the empty Dungeon. 

Sam continued down the halls, shoving open random bedroom doors. The further he crept from the Storage room, the warmer the halls became. He frowned, thinking of turning back. 

Peeking into Dean’s room, the air seemed to freeze and the lights went out, throwing him into darkness, “Nice timing.” he huffed, flicking out his phone. He turned, searching the blacked-out room with its flashlight. 

The lights flickered back on, revealing the ghost sitting comfortably in Dean’s chair, a smile nothing short of slimy stretched across his weathered face. 

“Hello, Sam Winchester.” he cooed, standing. Sam trained his gun on the man, who threw up his hands in a gesture of innocence.

“Careful there, sonny.” The man said, materializing behind Sam, blocking the doorway, “I’d just like a few words.” The man's voice reminded Sam of Car Salesman, almost to a comedic level. His grey pinstriped suit, and cup of brandy completed the look. 

“What do you want?” Sam sneered, cocking his gun. He shifted to the left, trying to move the ghost away from the doorway, to no avail. 

“I’d like to discuss matters about your -erm... brother. Maybe you could help me out?” He took a sip of the ghostly brandy, the liquid seemingly never leaving the cup.

“What the hell would I do that for?” Sam asked, trying to stall the ghost as long as he could. Mary’s footsteps echoed far down the hall, and if Sam could get a salt line on the door, it would at least slow the ghost down.

“Well,” the man purred, stepping slightly to the right, “I was wondering if you could help me cure your brother. He’s very sick, you see.” The man’s face became a mask of concern, none of which was real Sam knew. 

Sam glanced down, taking a guess at how much time he could buy before the ghost heard Mary’s footsteps, or realised Sam was trying to trap him. 

“I know…” Sam sighed, “How do we cure him?” He shoved his gun into it’s holster, grabbing the salt shaker he kept in his pocket. 

A cartoonish smile spread across the ghosts face, “Well, my mothers method is beating the Devil out of their soul, then freeing them with Holy-Water-soaked ropes. Hanging them immediately means they’ll at least have a chance at Heaven.” sympathy grew on his face as hatred grew on Sams, “But, for your brother there is a less useful permanent treatment.” Mary’s footsteps had almost reached Dean’s room, and the ghost had shifted so Sam’s back was now to the doorway. 

“Oh?” he asked, hopefully loud enough for Mary to hear, “What would that be?” 

The ghost took another sip of brandy, seemingly unfazed by the change in Sam’s tone, “We let him lay with a woman to purify his soul, hopefully that will cure him but,” he licked his lips, shrugging, “other methods would be much more...Gratifying.” 

Mary’s footsteps quieted just outside the doorway. Sam quickly popped open the salt container, throwing it across the threshold as he stepped out. 

“Bisexual people exist, asshat.” He smirked, emptying a round of rock salt into the ghosts chest. 

The ghost screeched, darkness suddenly enveloping the room. Mary ran up beside him, swiveling her gun around the blacked-out room.

“What’d I miss?” she asked, the lights flickering back on. The ghost was nowhere to be seen, but icicles coated the vent above Dean’s bed. 

Sam swore, heading back into the map room to follow the vents. The air was warm in the map room and the lights shone bright. 

Mary lowered her gun, sinking into a chair. Sam followed suit, sighing. 

“We don't have the cursed object, so how do we even kill this thing?” she asked, passing Sam a box of rock-salt loaded bullets. 

Sam shrugged, reloading his clip, “What if we could track what was anchoring the ghost here -the wig-”

“This thing is haunting a wig?” Mary interrupted, puzzled, “How did you end up with a cursed wig?” 

A goofy smile spread across Sam's face. He pulled out his phone, searching for the video, “I guess I forgot to tell you about that…” he chuckled, handing it over to Mary. 

She let loose a hearty guffaw at Dean’s performance, “Send that to me,” she chuckled, handing Sam the phone, “Do you guys have any tracking spells for cursed objects?” she asked, still grinning but attempting to redirect the topic.

“No...” Sam shook his head, seemingly lost in thought, “But I know where to find one."

~~~

Sam flicked on the storage room lights, pulling out four small bins filled with papers and books, setting them on the dungeon table nearby. 

“What’s in there?” asked Mary, peeking through a thick manuscript. Inside only a few sentences caught her attention; ‘Cures to ghost sickness, Safe restoration of a precious cursed object, Non-destructive Curation of cursed objects-’

“When we dug through the Men of Letters’ files the first time...” Sam started, pulling a small black notebook out of one of the bins triumphantly, “I saw a spell in here to transfer ghosts from their corpse to an object. I figured it’d be useful at some point, so I kept a log of a bunch of useful spells.” He held up the small book, which read on a bullet point; Transferring Ghosts: pg 257.

“This spell transfers ghosts from their corpse to an object -supposedly that is.” He flipped through a manuscript, searching for page two-hundred-fifty-seven, “The Men of Letters were killed before they could test it, and even then it was only a theory, but it looks like some pretty solid spellwork.” 

“So...you think we could reverse-engineer it to do the opposite?” Mary asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Or better,” Sam continued, lost in the text, “We could transfer it to an object in the bunker, then destroy that.” He slid the manuscript over to Mary, who skimmed through it. 

“Hang on...” Mary sighed, her heart sinking, “It says we either need the original cursed object, or whoever the ghost wants to kill has to be possessed.”

Sam glanced at the book, worry and hopefulness conflicting on his face, “It’s after Dean and Cas so we could-”

Mary frowned, “Are you saying we use them as bait?” she asked, pausing in her packing back up of the manuscripts. 

Sam sighed, “I know. I don’t like it either, but it’s the best idea we’ve got, and it’s Cas and Dean. They can take care of themselves against one ghost.” 

Mary seemed displeased with the idea, even with the reassurance. She hated putting her sons in danger, she couldn't bear losing either of them. 

“Okay.” She reluctantly sighed, “Lets go tell ‘em the plan.” 

~~~

Cas and Dean slept with the backs to the bar, Dean almost cradling Castiel. Their hands gripping one another, and Deans red/gray flannel had been haphazardly thrown over Cas’s lap. 

A comfortable smile rested on Dean's sleeping face and Cas’s head rested on his shoulder. 

Sam crept up on the newly-outed couple, intent on waking them. His hand raised to shake Dean, he hesitated, glancing back at Mary, who raised her eyebrows. 

He grinned, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and snapping a photo of the sleeping couple, Cas in his trench coat and Dean still in the fuzzy pajama pants and plain black shirt. Shoving it back into his pocket, Mary snickering behind him, he crept up beside them, attempting to tap Dean awake. 

After a few shakes and one useless slap, Dean shook his head sleepily, snuggling back into Cas, “Ugh...what?” he said groggily, shooing away Sam, his eyes still closed. 

“Dean” Sam said, more urgently, “The asshole ghost haunting us?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Dean squinted in the light, then shook himself awake, doing the same to Cas, “Baby- buddy, buddy wakeup, we’re killing a ghost.” he murmured, patting Cas to wake him. 

Castiel groggily sat up, heaving Dean up with him, “You killed it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and leaning into Dean’s warm embrace.

“Well…” Sam sighed, “No. We couldn’t find your wig, so instead we found a way to re-fixate it’s cursed object.”

“Okay?” Dean said sleepily, retrieving his flannel from the floor and wrapping it around himself, “Let’s hear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was long and I had a lot of fun writing it, hope you have as much reading it :)


	6. Catching it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has a little more intimacy in it, but I've kept it fluffy so yall can still enjoy

Dean glanced at Cas, crossing his arms, “I’m down if you are, man.” he flipped a chair around at the table, taking a seat on it backwards, resting his arms on the back. 

Castiel shrugged, trying to keep the warmth from rising in his cheeks.

“Alright then.” Dean clapped, rubbing his hands together, “Lets prep this spell, and then get out of this stupid circle.” 

Mary nodded, handing Cas an iron knife. He stared at it, cocking his head in confusion. 

“One of you is going to be possessed” she explained, “And since I don’t really want a psycho angel, you’re up Dean.” she nodded at her son, who seemed slightly offended at the notion that he was considered below Cas on the danger scale.

Dean shook his head, standing, “I have a much better idea than stabbing me.” he smirked, taking the knife from Cas’s hands and pulling open the cabinets, eventually filling a glass with water.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, peeking over his shoulder. Dean gazed back at him, fond warmth seeping into his features.

“Keeping your ass from getting possessed” He teased, dissolving almost half a bag of salt into it, “Down this when it shows up, and you’ll probably be fine.” He said, handing it to Castiel. 

“Thanks.” Cas replied dryly, taking the saltwater concoction. He retrieved another two cups for Dean, who began filling those as well. 

Dean handed Sam and Mary their cups, who both shared a quick grin at Dean and Cas’s new accompanied intimacy. Mary raised her glass in a mock toast, and Sam grinned, both downing their cups of saltwater like shots before turning back to the couple, “Ready?” asked Sam, hefting the weathered, leather-bound spellbook.

Dean shrugged, glancing around as the lights began to flicker, and frost crept along the walls and ceiling, “So glad you could join us.” he jeered at the ghost’s vague misty outline. 

Sam grinned at his brother's remark, gathering the ingredients for the spell on the table and retrieving an iron pot from the pantry. 

The ingredients were nothing hard to obtain, except deciding what they were going to use for the object (Dean’s old socks were the ultimate winner) but instead the spell required a skilled witch to perform it, ‘So let’s hope this works’ he thought, nodding at Castiel. 

Cas chugged the entire cup of saltwater in one breath, his dragging feet breaking the salt circle as he stepped inside. 

The ghost solidified, a elderly white man with a venomous sneer on his face. Dean pulled Cas closer, “Here goes nothing.” he whispered, giving Cas a kiss. His lips were soft, and the kiss lasted a moment more than it had to, but neither seemed to care. The ghost sputtered in outrage, the lights above Cas and Dean’s heads even blowing out. Frost prickled their skin as the very air froze.

The ghost bolted toward Dean as he pulled his head away, a tender, fond smile on his face spread warmth throughout Cas’s whole body, only to freeze when wisps of the apparition began absorbing into Deans skin, seeping into his nostrils and eyes. He coughed once, before his eyes slowly looked up, glowering. 

The ghost's venomous sneer stretched across Dean’s lips in place of his soft beam. Black ectoplasm leaked from both of his fern-green eyes, cascading down his cheeks and dripping onto the already-black tee. 

Cas stood, frozen in place, as the ghost retrieved a beer from the fridge. He drew back his arm, preparing to slam it into Cas’s temple. 

Mary grabbed his sleeve just in time, pulling him out of the salt circle as the bottle smashed into the table instead, spewing beer and sending glass careening. 

“This one-” Not-Dean cackled, examining its new form and hefting the weapon, “He’s quite the flutter bum.” It mocked, “Might even leave him half-alive after this.” 

A gruesome smile stretched across Dean's lips as the ghost ran an edge of the bottle across Dean's arm, prompting a line of blood to follow in its wake. 

Mary hefted her shotgun, and a pained wince spread throughout Cas’s body. Sam worriedly sped up his speech, stumbling over the mixture of Latin and French.

Not-Dean reached for the block of knives, hefting one and drawing back his hand. In a quick reflex, the knife shot across the kitchen, Cas grunting as it stuck him in the torso. He pulled it out, wincing as the patch of blood spread further across his white dress shirt. 

His pupils briefly glowed a bright cerulean blue as his wounds closed up, his angel blade falling from his sleeve despite it’s uselessness.

Not-Dean sneered, cackling. 

“What’s so funny?” Cas asked, unable to keep the fury out of his voice. 

Not-Dean hefted two more knives. Cas and Mary prepared themselves to duck, Mary even grabbing a serving patter to use as a shield. 

The ghost pulled Deans face into a sympathetic grin, stepping over the salt line. He spun the knife in his palm, so the blade faced outwards from his wrist, like a flashlight. With the palmed knife, he threw a punch at Mary, who ducked under him and cocked the shotgun, almost ready to fire. 

Not-Dean whirled with incredible speed, knocking the shotgun from Mary’s hands and catching it midair, shooting her right arm, shredding the skin. She cried out, stepping back from the fight. Not-Dean advanced still, a gruesome, slimy grin stretched across his face. He raised the knife above Mary’s head, who seemed to be calculating her next move. 

Before she could decide to run, block, or attack, Castiel did the latter. Slamming his heel into the back of Deans knee, Not-Dean crumpled to the ground, dropping one of his knives. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean, who struggled against the Angels strong grip, attempting to stab him with the knife he still latched on to. 

Cas pulled him back into the salt circle, Mary quickly sealing off the cracks. Not-Dean sputtered in outrage, glaring at the invisible barrier, which sparked blue every time he attempted to break it. He threw punches at it for almost a solid minute, before resorting to quietly fuming. 

Sam held up Deans socks, finishing off the spell with a victorious, “Allez-vous-en!” 

The ghost screeched, becoming a solid form again, tossing Dean’s limp body to the floor, unconscious. 

It pounded at the salt edges as they began to smoke, surrounding the ghost in a white crystal tornado, which sped towards the socks, almost like a genie in a lamp. It’s furious screams quieted to a growl, which emitted from the smelly fabric. 

Cas tossed his angel blade aside, rushing to help his unconscious Winchester. 

Dean lay against the bar, his arm draped across his stomach and his emerald eye closed. Cas knelt, shaking him by the shoulders. 

“Dean,” He called, placing his hand in front of his mouth, “Sam!” He almost yelled, heaving him up, “He’s not breathing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger, I just couldn't resist. next chapt will be up sometime this week :)


	7. Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for sure a filler chapter and the next will have more action and people

Mary dashed over, draping Dean’s arm over her shoulder, taking half of his weight from Castiel. She turned to Sam, motioning for him to open the kitchen door. 

He obliged, following them as they rushed down the halls, eventually draping Dean in one of the Infirmary's cots. 

Cas raised his hand, his palm lighting up a warm yellow, his pupils filling with blue light. Dean gasped, his chest heaving up and down with a few fast, shuddering breaths. The cuts across his arms closed up, but his eyes stayed firmly shut, prompting worried glances from the family surrounding him. 

Cas dropped his hands in defeat, sinking onto a bed, “I can heal his external wounds, but…” He sighed, his brows knit with concern as he looked to the other Winchesters, “Whatever was in that spell, it-” His breath hitched, “-it almost killed him.” 

Sam glanced down, guilt dropping in his stomach like a rock. Mary turned to him, and, upon noticing his remorseful expression, rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” her tone was comforting but it did nothing to sooth him, “We’ll figure this out. Right Cas?” She asked, turning to the angel, who anxiously played with his hands, while absently watching his beloved, “We’ll find a spell, a healer, even just take him to a regular hospital…” She trailed off, heading off to the storage room in search of a spell, “Sam, come with me, Cas-” 

“I’ll watch over him.” he finished, pulling up a chair, “You, focus on finding a spell.” 

Sam nodded, following Mary out the door. As Sam and Mary’s rushed voices became distant, Cas pulled the chair closer to Dean, taking his hand with a sad, and yet hopeful smile. 

“Wakeup Dean.” He pleaded, placing a kiss on the unconscious Winchester’s knuckles.

~~~

Sam flipped through the manuscript, searching for the spell he performed. Mary sat next to him at the Library desk, Dean’s dirty socks burning in a bowl next to her. 

She flipped through a thick hardcover, searching for any mythological creatures with powers of healing. Many had been mentioned and considered, but the price had been too high, many times it being a lover or best friend. 

Sam let out a victorious, “Aha!” as he flipped to page 257. Mary abruptly stood, leaning over his manuscript. 

“What?” she asked, glancing up with wide eyes, “What did you find?”

Sam pointed to the bottom of the page, where -in fine print- it read, “Side effects may include: Death, Stroke, Tetanus and gas. Pg 23 for cures.” He quickly flipped to page twenty three, which lay empty, with only the author's name scribbled across the middle. He flipped bot back an forth, being me with an introduction and table of contents.  
“Page twenty three? What book?” asked Mary, glancing around the library at the bookshelves, each lining a wall twenty feet long and crammed with manuals, spellbooks and monster research. 

Sam sank back into his chair, “I don’t know,” He sighed, nodding at Mary’s manuscript, “Find anything in yours?” He asked, rubbing his brow. His hope had begun to fade in the past half hour, becoming a sickening dread.

Mary shook her head, “I’ve got one animal so far, but I don’t think we have the ingredients or the power for summoning it.” she said, deflating. She turned to her book, "There's too many things we're missing."

Sam glanced over, his brows raised, “What do we need?” He asked, not allowing his hope to rekindle. 

Mary checked the paper, “We’re missing...Dried kelp from the Mariana Trench, Walnuts roasted over Valhalla’s fires -whatever that means, the ground horn of a baby Giraffe, and...” She trailed off, searching the page for the last ingredient, "A coven."

"A coven?" Sam asked, sighing. He pulling out his phone, Mary knitting her brows as he dialed an unfamiliar number. 

“Yeah, hello to you too Rowena. Listen, Dean’s dying-” He rolled his eyes “-Yes. Please?” Mary could hear the sigh coming from the phone across the table. Sam grinned, “Thanks.” He said, hanging up. 

Mary raised her eyebrows. “Who was that?” She asked, already bemused with the woman. 

“Rowena McLeod, Crowley's mother.” San huffed a laugh as Mary’s confusion grew, “She’s also one of the world’s most powerful witches. And Dean will probably want to skin her on the spot, so…”

Mary thought for a moment, trying to choose a question to ask, “W-why does he want to skin her?” she finally asked, cocking her head.  
Sam grinned, keeping down a giggle, “A few months back she put a love curse on him, but that’s a whole other story.” 

Despite their predicament, in the hope, Mary huffed a laugh. Then her hope crashed with one thought, "We need three for a coven." She groaned, dropping her head. 

Sam nodded, "I've got another hunter on the way. I called her when Dean passed out, she's coming up from working a case in Oklahoma. Her name's Eileen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that was a slow update, i'm still figuring this out lol. I have decided that chapters will be posted Wednesday at 10am pacific time. thanks for the kudos, hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> (wink wink nod nod there may be another fanfic from what sam said rowena did wink wink)


	8. Chapter 8

"So what's this we're hunting?" Eileen signed as she spoke, hefting her back from the backseat of an older model ford, presumably stolen, "A ghost?" She only signed the last word. Sam had been catching on fast after they had began spending more time together, although Dean's sign language was still limited to 'yes', 'no', and 'burgers'. 

Sam shook his head, his morning hair still cow-licked to the left. He signed awkwardly as he spoke "We're not hunting this time, we're doing a spell to summon a-" he shrugged, simply signing 'large bird'. 

Eileen tilted her head, and headed for the Bunker door, "We're hunting a sesame street character?" she teased as Sam swung open the door. He chuckled, glancing down with a blush. 

"No, it's called a Caladrius. It's a healing bird." a grim expression crossed Sam's face as he led Eileen down the bunker hallway, to the Infirmary. Castiel still sat at the foot of Deans bed, in the same position he had been in the night before. His head rested on his fist, his other hand softly stroking Dean's knuckles. His head snapped up in surprise as Sam and Eileen entered. 

"Is he..." She asked, not daring to voice the question. 

Sam shook his head, "We ended up with a ghost in the bunker and after it possessed Dean- well, it left him pretty busted up, inside and out." 

Eileen nodded grimly, raising her eyebrow to Castiel, "You're his angel I'm guessing?" She asked, glancing to Sam as if for confirmation. 

Castiel didn't get to answer, as something from another room seemed to startled them. Sam let out a sigh, turning to let his least favorite witch into their stronghold. Eileen followed him down the hall, curious as to the intrusion. 

Pulling his flat hand away from his chin in a sign of 'good' (or maybe thank you?) Sam continued down the hall. He tapped Eileen to get her attention. 

"She's here to help with the spell." he said, and pulled open the door to reveal a ginger woman carrying two large suitcases. She wore light makeup and her pale complexion stood in stark contrast to her dark maroon dress. 

"Samuel..." she cooed, inviting herself in. The woman kept speaking, but turned away from Eileen, so she could only see her Adams apple bobbing up an down as she spoke. As the woman turned momentarily, Eileen managed to catch a few words, but her lips seemed different. Her pronunciation was quite off from the way Eileen was used to. 

"Does she have an accent?" She asked Sam, signing slowly. She watched as the woman set her bags on the Map table, and began pulling out different ingredients for their spell. 

Sam nodded, "Scottish." He signed, grinning, "She sounds like a terrier looks." 

Eileen giggled, the ginger woman apparently not paying attention to their small side conversation. Instead, she seemed more interested in the older Winchester's love life, particularly with Castiel. The more the woman spoke -which was quite a lot- the more words Eileen caught onto, the easier the pronunciation came. 

"-And where is the couple now? On their honeymoon I presume?" Despite not being able to hear her, Eileen could tell her voice was coated in a thick, sweet layer of sarcasm. 

Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean's in the Infirmary, Rowena. We need your help." 

Before Rowena could ask, Mary chose that moment to make her entrance. 

"Who's this?" She asked Sam, gesturing to the woman, who Eileen guessed was Rowena. 

"This is Rowena McLeod," He answered, glancing down, "Crowley's mother. She's here to help though." he added quickly, sensing Mary's response otherwise. She sized up the witch, checking for concealed weapons, hex bags, or curses. After a moment of awkward silence, Mary seemed to let off the tension, dropping her guard at least a little. 

"The sooner we summon this Caladrius thing the sooner Dean's okay?" she asked, her lips pursed with worry. Bags hung under her eyes, and, now that Eileen looked closer, Sam's too. she guessed they hadn't slept much since the ghost. 

Sam turned, pulling out a black hard-cover book with gilded edges, "Hopefully. The bird can choose not to heal him, if his sins are that bad, and, if we're talking Christian sins, Dean has a rap sheet a mile long." he sighed, continuing before their spirits diminished, "But- if it does refuse to heal him, I have a back-up plan. for now, we can stick to the bird. Rowena-"

"Way ahead of you, Samuel." She pulled out a bag of ingredients containing three main things, a bag if fine-ground powder, six charred balls, and a stack of dried kelp.  
She set them in a bronze bowl, sprinkling the powder onto the rest of the ingredients. 

"Cooked up a nice incantation for the wee birdie." She chuckled, "He'll have no choice but to show." 

Sam nodded, taking Eileen and Rowena's hands, and nodding for them to do the same. Mary backed away from the map table, going to stand off to the side, along with Castiel, who had just entered. 

"Repeat after me." She started, "Quia malus male, ut fix stercore." 

Sam and Eileen repeated the phrase back to her, and the contents in the bowl set alight. 

Castiel glanced at Mary, who wore a worried expression. 

"Dean's going to be okay." He offered, trying his best at sympathy, "I will protect him at all cost." The last line came out as a desperate promise, one made by fools, instead of a warriors swear. 

Mary gave him a sad smile, "How many times has he died already?" She asked, seemingly pondering if she really wanted to know. 

Castiel sighed, watching the others do the spell, "One hundred and seventeen. Counting this." 

"What?!" Mary asked, whipping her head around to face him. The others still sat at the table, repeating the chant. 

Cas nearly let out a laugh, "My brother- Gabriel. He was a trickster of sorts. Before the first apocalypse, back in two-thousand eight, he played a- A prank, as Dean would call it, on Sam. He killed Dean over and over again, all in different ways, bringing him back to each morning to a sadistic 'Heat of the Moment'." Cas continued, ignoring Mary's shock, "He died again when he went to Hell, when I 'saved his ass from the hot box'." He chuckled, remembering his carelessness at the time, "Joshua resurrected them on erm- 'Gods' "- He made air quotations with his fingers, sarcasm dripping from his voice- "Orders. Plus the multiple occasions he's temporarily killed himself to speak to reapers and ghosts." 

Cas listed off a few other times, a few other ways. Mary began to enjoy listening to the angel, as he became visibly more worried about her son the more he talked. She smiled, finding comfort in the fact that she had been right all those years ago. An Angel had been watching over him, one very sweet, and one so incredibly in love it was stupid. 

Although she had to sympathize with Castiel. Dean was loyal to a fault, and often- foolish. Mary glanced up as she heard a ruffling of feathers, and the other's chanting stopped. 

a pure white peacock stood on the center of the table, the only colour on it's body a cyan where the eyes would be on it's tail. His eyes were also a metallic cyan, one quite unnerving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school started again so thats why my update was very very late. i'm sorry! thanks for kudos, this remains unedited pretty much, so catch my errors in the comments
> 
> (btw if u wanna translate rowenas spell it's in latin)


	9. Chapter 9

The bird perched atop the lamp at the center of the bunker table, it's metallic cyan eyes staring unblinking at Castiel. 

"Salutations" the Caladrius boomed, it's voice seeming to come from inside his head. 

"Um, hi?" Cas asked, searching the room for something to catch the animal with. His eyes skipped over a loose flannel sitting on a couch nearby, and he considered just knocking it out with a lamp or book, when Cas noticed Sam and Eileen's unblinking eyes and surprised expressions. They stood frozen on the spot, their entire bodies seemed rooted in time. 

Mary shuffled behind him, startling him. Cas glanced back to see a confused Mary with apparently the same idea as him, her hands clutching a large book. Feathers rustling where the albino bird had stood pulled his attention back to that spot, only to see it empty. 

"There is no need for alarm," it's voice filled his head, leaving no room for other thoughts, "I am here for this one." 

Cas's eyes widened, and he turned sharply, dodging Sam and Rowena on the way to the infirmary, Mary hot on his heels. He threw open the infirmary door to see the Caladrius resting it's head in Dean's lap, almost like a puppy. It's eyes lay closed and peaceful, and it's deep breaths could be heard outside Cas's head. 

The bird sighed, and glanced up at Castiel with a sorrowful expression. Cas swallowed hard, afraid to ask. 

"In the past, I have served kings. What makes your love so worthy of my sacrifice?" 

Cas thought for a moment, keeping tears from welling in his eyes, "Had you seen his performance at the bar," Cas started with a chuckle, "You'd think he's an absolute king." He smiled, recalling the goofy memory. Though it had only been a few days, the night seemed to be far in the past. Mary stepped up beside Cas, giving him a validating grin. 

"If it's a sacrifice of love you're looking for, I'd be happy to fill in." She stated, glaring at Castiel so as to stop any argument before it could even start. The birds eyes softened though, and it glanced back towards Dean's sleeping figure. 

"Your offering shows me enough." 

White light filled the room, encompassing the Caladrius. It rose off of the bed, glowing brighter and brighter with every second. Mary shielded her eyes, Cas quickly following suit. 

A flash illuminated the room, seen even through their fingers. Cas heard a gasp, and a shuddering exhale. 

He grinned, slowly uncovering his eyes. The Caladrius was gone, it's ashes floating down from the ceiling. Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes, letting a warm smile spread across his face as he saw Cas. 

Cas bent down, wrapping his arms around Dean, breathing in the scent of his flannel. 

"You're okay..." He whispered, more to soothe himself than Dean. Cas could feel Mary smiling behind him, and soon heard her footsteps back out of the room. 

"I'll leave you two be," She teased heading back to the dining room, leaving the two still locked in a hug. 

~~~

"I still don't get it," Eileen asked, helping Mary load her bags into the back of her truck, "Why were we frozen and you weren't?" 

Rowena tapped her on the shoulder, "Being gone for thirty year's ought'a screw with someones magic, and their ability to be affected by it, mhm?" She chuckled, loading her bags into the back of a cab, "Poor boys better go on a vacation." She sighed, handing her carpet-looking medicine bag to a confused cabbie. 

Mary nodded at Sam, who had just emerged from the bunker, "You better take them on a really nice double-date sometime." She said, nodding at Eileen with a smile. 

Sam chuckled, wrapping his arm around Eileen, "Maybe tomorrow, Dean needs some rest." 

Mary nodded, hopping in her truck. She gave Sam a quick wave, before heading off. Rowena flashed a half salute as her cab drove by, mouthing, "Until next time."

**Author's Note:**

> In the spirit of this being my first ever fanfic, I would really appreciate any and all comments/criticism:)


End file.
